


Who's Deceiving Who Here?

by jonsasnow



Series: Tumblr Prompts [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fake Married AU, dialogue prompt from tumblr, hate to friends to lovers in a veyr short one shot, jon and sansa are mi6 agents sort of, jonsa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2019-02-05 13:02:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12795144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonsasnow/pseuds/jonsasnow
Summary: "Why don’t you just marry him?”[or the one where Jon and Sansa are Mi6 agents and they have to pose as husband and wife]





	Who's Deceiving Who Here?

“Why don’t you just marry him?” 

“Excuse me?” Sansa flushed, cheeks turning a bright red, as she tried desperately to hide her face from Jon. 

“It would be more realistic,” Davos said. He swiveled in his chair until he was facing them both. “And people are more likely to let their guards down around a married couple.” 

Jon leaned forward. “So you want us to pose as husband and wife?” 

“Will that be a problem?”

“No, ‘course not,” Jon said, looking as nonchalant as if he was just agreeing to go for some frozen yogurt; it only angered her more. “How about you, Sans?” 

“ _Don’t_  call me that,” she hissed back. 

“Agent Stark,” Davos said sternly. “Will that be a problem?” 

“No, sir,” Sansa said firmly. “Not a problem _at all_.” 

Thirty-six hours, a plane and taxi ride later, it was most definitely a problem. Despite having worked with Jon Snow for the better half of her adult life, Sansa had never quite seen eye-to-eye with the broody git of a man. She was a practical person; she saw things logically and acted accordingly, but Jon – oh no, Mr Honour and Duty always found a way to directly disobey her orders and do things the way _he_  saw fit, sometimes completely compromising their missions. It rankled her in a way that made her contemplate complete insubordination of her superiors and stabbing the man with a pair of dull scissors. Unfortunately, Sansa was a stickler for rules and it made her more anxious to go against her commanders than it did to work with Jon. 

“After you, Mrs Jameson,” Jon said, a faint trace of a smirk twitching at his lips. Sansa resisted the urge to shoulder him roughly before entering their assigned house. 

It was a modest two-storey with a white picket fence and a view of the city skyline, but it wasn’t the prime location that had appealed to their superiors. The house was located a walking distance from Cersei Lannister, their target. The matriarch held the highest position in the Lannister mob family, only one wrung below her father, Tywin. But it was her that called the shots, according to their inside source. Sansa and Jon were tasked with getting as close to the family as possible. It was a risk considering how distrusting Cersei was, but it was an option they still needed to at least exhaust.

As soon as they entered the house, a dog came bounding forward, tongue lolling and tail wagging. Sansa jumped back in surprise. “Uh, hubby dearest? When the hell did we get a dog?” 

Jon dropped the suitcases and frowned. “I didn’t think they were serious.” 

“Serious? About what?” Sansa questioned. 

“Sam said that Cersei Lannister had a routine of walking her dogs every morning so I joked that the agency should give us a dog too,” Jon said, frowning, all the while petting and cuddling the giant white husky. “I didn’t think they’d listen to me.” 

Sansa dropped to the floor to rub the dog behind his ears. Begrudgingly, she admitted, “it’s a good idea.” 

“Yeah,” Jon caught her eye and smiled. “Thanks.”  

The problem, however, with co-owning a dog with Jon was how much they both doted on Ghost. It became a problem when they would willingly tolerate hanging out in the other’s company while not on assignment just to be around the sweet dog. 

For instance, Sunday night – neither Jon nor Sansa had an assignment for the evening, and maybe for the first time since they moved in a couple weeks ago, they were both home at the same time. It was a situation that Sansa didn’t really know how to handle and it would appear – if Jon’s awkward shuffle around the kitchen was any indicator – that it was not one he knew how to navigate either. By the third time he’d bumped into her, Sansa had to put a stop to this absurdity.

“Okay, _how about_  I cook for you?” 

Jon paused, pot in hand and a packet of instant noodles in the other. “What?” 

“Look, we’re going to be here for months, right? And we’re going to have a lot of down time together. We should be able to be civil to one another, and clearly, I’m the better cook here,” Sansa pointed out. It was a perfectly logical plan of action, but for some reason, standing there in her pyjamas staring at an equally leisurely-dressed Jon in their shared kitchen was making her nervous. 

“You really don’t have to,” he muttered. “I’m fine eating this.” 

“ _Jon_ ,” she chided, picking the packet from his hand. “I’ve seen you eat nothing but takeout since we got here! If you don’t stop, you’re going to eat your way into an early grave.” 

He leaned against the countertop and placed the pot down. “Are you actually worried about me?” he asked coyly. “I never thought I’d see the day.” 

Sansa huffed. “Do you want to eat dinner with me or not!” The phrasing of her words rang in her ears and she flushed. “I mean…” He chuckled, flustering her even more. “Oh, shut up! You know what I mean!” 

“Hmm… do I?” Jon stepped forward, fingering the string of her apron. “Because I’m not sure I do. Maybe after all these years, you’re finally admitting that you hate me so much because you fancy me.” 

The normally morose man was _flirting_  with her and it completely took her off guard. Jon was either self-righteous, indignant or stubborn. This playful side of him – well, Sansa had never really seen it before.

 “ _Fine_ ,” Sansa ground out. “Eat your stupid noodles!” She pushed past him towards the fridge, but his hand circled around her wrist and pulled her back.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said, laughing. “You’re just so easy to wind up, Sans.” At her scowl, he let go of her. “I’d _love_  to have dinner with you. Please.” 

It became something of a routine between them. They would conduct surveillance during the day, learning the in’s and out’s of Cersei Lannister’s schedule, and then come home so Sansa could cook them dinner. They would even sit side-by-side on the sofa with Ghost at their feet as they watched whatever was on the telly at the time. Sansa hated to admit it, but once she got Jon talking, he really was quite good company. He had a wickedly dry sense of humour and a pension for nature documentaries.  

When it came time to insert themselves into Cersei’s life, it was far too easy to pretend to be Mrs Alayne Jameson, the loving wife of business mogul, Arthur Jameson. Frankly, she should have seen it coming – the way her heart would race whenever he held her hand or kissed her on the cheek or the way she longed for the same kind of physical intimacy when they got home. As an investigative agent, Sansa really was supposed to be more self-aware, but between spying on Cersei and pretending to be her new best friends, there hadn’t been a moment for introspection. The truth was she had probably been repressing the feelings, ignoring the heat that had been building up between them for years and the fact that Jon’s was the only opinion she ever really cared for. It was just easier to push it away. 

At least until it wasn’t. 

“Jon!” she screamed, racing towards him as Cersei crumbled to the ground, a bullet wound at the back of her skull, courtesy of Sansa’s Glock 17. He fell forward onto the ground. There was blood smeared across his face and soaking through his t-shirt. She dropped down beside him and immediately cradled his head in her lap. “Jon, can you hear me? _Please._ ” 

“Sans?”

“Oh my god,” she cried out, tears streaming down her face. “Don’t you _ever_ , _ever_  do that to me again. Do you understand?” Without thinking, she began peppering his face with kisses, not caring for a second that the blood on his skin was now staining her own. “I can’t lose you. I just can’t.”

Jon groaned as he pushed to sit up. His hand went to her cheek. “Hey, look at me. I’m alive. I’m here, okay? I’m not going anywhere.” He wiped the tears from her face and smiled. “So you really _do_  fancy me, huh?” 

Sansa choked out a laugh and buried her face in his chest. “I still hate you.” 

“I don’t think you do,” Jon murmured, kissing her head. “In fact, I think you’re kind of hopelessly in love with me.” Before she could make a sarcastic comment, he pulled away so he could face her properly. “Because guess what, Sans? I’m kind of hopelessly in love with you too.” 

Sansa threw her arms tightly around his neck and pressed her lips to his as desperately as she had felt when she found out Cersei took him. The fear, the regret, the guilt and god, _the love_ – she put it all into that one kiss and hoped Jon could feel what she couldn’t say. 

Eight months, a van and two dogs later, it would seem that Jon _did_  feel what she had tried to tell him and their tiny two-bedroom flat with Ghost and Lady were proof that. 


End file.
